


A Monologue for Self-Loathing

by thechandrian



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Bears, Flirting, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Rain, Sickfic, Talking Animals, Umbrellas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-17 12:18:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/867463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thechandrian/pseuds/thechandrian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire brings a socially awkward talking bear to the Cafe Musain in hopes of impressing Enjolras.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: No harm intended, no profit made. I don't own Les Miserables. Please excuse any historical inaccuracies & anachronisms. 
> 
> Inspired by the following tumblr posts [here](http://moonwalk-into-mordor.tumblr.com/post/44735906181) and [here](http://sverockandroll.tumblr.com/post/36884780239/what-am-i-doing).

In the mountain range known as the Pyrenees, running along the border of France and Spain, a small sleuth of bears lived peacefully, away from civilization. Although these bears were mainly brown, among them was a single black bear. This black bear had a name that would be difficult to translate from the roaring language that bears speak to one another, so for the sake of the story, he shall simply be known as Dis Bear.

Dis Bear was different from most bears in that he was unable to be properly frightening, catch fish, or breed. The population in the mountains was dwindling and it was more important than ever that each bear in the sleuth not be socially awkward. Unfortunately, Dis Bear made everyone incredibly uncomfortable.

For as long as he could remember, he had an incurable crush on a female bear of the same group known as Fleur. He constantly tried to flirt with her, but to no avail. Fleur was one of the few female bears in the group and so every male bear was all about her.

The leader of the sleuth, Meneur, awoke from the cave and went down to the river, catching a few fish with his eyes closed. Dis Bear stared in awe, wishing he had some sort of talent. His only talents were avoiding eye contact and messing up his roars.

Meneur walked over to Dis Bear and threw a fish at his face.

“Deliver this,” he roared in bear-language. “And find a mate before winter.”

Dis Bear realized that the other bears were probably gossiping about his inability to contribute anything useful to the sleuth, and decided that today he would attempt to talk with Fleur.

Fleur was busy decorating her fur with flowers. Her chocolate mane was radiant in the morning sun and Dis Bear felt unworthy in her presence. He began to blush and was grateful that he had black fur completely covering his face.

“Uh,” Dis Bear roared, getting Fleur’s attention. She rolled her eyes when she saw him, reminding him that she had absolutely no interest in being courted. Still, he had to try.

“Be my girlfriend,” Dis Bear roared in an incredibly unsubtle manner.

Fleur looked appalled at the request and quickly shook her head.

“No, you’re gross,” she roared, and walked off with a fish in her mouth and flowers in her fur.

Dis Bear allowed a single tear to fall.

Later that night, Dis Bear approached Meneur and explained the situation. All the other female bears had mates, and Fleur expressed that she would rather drown herself in the icy river than have Dis Bear as a boyfriend.

“Dis Bear,” Meneur growled angrily, “you have failed the sleuth. Go from here.”

“But where?” Dis Bear said. He had severe social anxiety and hated speaking with strangers. Also, he knew no other world beyond the Pyrenees.

“You must go on a journey to prove that you are worthy of us,” Meneur explained. “Follow the river, and then go north. Come back when you are prepared to take on some responsibility.”

Dis Bear had no choice. He bid farewell to all his bear friends.  They wished him good luck in sad roars indicating that they really didn’t think he stood a chance in the outside world, and presumably wouldn’t see him again.

Dis Bear had no possessions and only brought along a few fish for the journey, since he was absolute shit at hunting.

The journey was long and hard. Every time Dis Bear came across another creature in the forest, he had to quickly hide or pretend to be busy with some task. Since Dis Bear was infamous for accomplishing tasks indiscreetly, several times the creatures would come over and ask if he was all right. Dis Bear just roared at them, scaring them away.

At least he was finally decent at being scary, he acknowledged.

Finally, he recognized that the forest was becoming thinner, and he could hear carriages going by and people talking in foreign languages. He became frightened, and fell asleep under a tree, hoping that when he awoke, he would be happy beside Fleur.

 

* * *

“Are you sure this is the way?” a voice tore through the silence, awaking Dis Bear. It was pitch black outside and it took a moment before his eyes adjusted. A couple feet away, he saw three figures standing, looking incredibly lost and confused. He hoped that they wouldn’t notice him, since his fur was jet black and blended into the night.

“Of course I’m sure,” another voice slurred.

“You’re sure you live in the woods?”

“Let’s just go back,” a third voice answered, worried. “I hate being in the woods. The last time I was here a tick bit me and I contracted Lyme disease.”

“You’ve never once had Lyme disease, Joly,” the first voice answered, laughing.

Dis Bear had no idea what the hell they were on about, and wished they’d leave. He wanted to avoid the inevitable encounter with the species known as “humans.”

Thankfully, Dis Bear’s sleuth was very old and wise and studied many languages. Dis Bear could understand French, English, and Spanish, which helped in this instance, though it didn’t make the scenario any clearer.

What Dis Bear did understand, however, was that the voices were getting closer.

“I must have made a wrong turn,” the second voice slurred. Dis Bear noticed that the person in question seemed to be stumbling around quite a bit. “Are we not on the _Rue Soufflot_?”

“Grantaire!” the first voice shouted, bringing his hands up to his face exasperatedly. “We’re in the fucking woods!”

“Oh,” Grantaire said, looking around as if seeing for the first time. Dis Bear realized that Grantaire was only about a foot away from him and twitched slightly in fear. The twitch, however small, was enough to attract Grantaire’s attention.

They stared into each other’s eyes for a moment – Dis Bear in fear, Grantaire in drunken disbelief – before Grantaire shouted,

“A bear!”

“Enough, Grantaire,” Joly said, brushing his arms off as though he had ticks all over him, “let’s just go ba—” Joly was interrupted as he caught sight of Dis Bear and let out a wild scream.

“What on earth?” the first voice said, approaching.

“Bossuet, run!” Joly screamed, his voice reaching an incredible octave. He grabbed onto Bossuet’s arm and ran from the woods in a flash, dragging a stumbling Bossuet behind him.

Grantaire, however, had yet to move, making Dis Bear incredibly uncomfortable. He held a bottle in his hands and took a sip. Only then did he seem to notice that Joly and Bossuet had disappeared.

“Wow,” Grantaire remarked, looking to where his friends had run off, “I’m really drunk.”

Much to Dis Bear’s surprise and chagrin, Grantaire took a seat on the forest floor, showing absolutely no sign of leaving.

“Have you ever been in love, Monsieur Bear?” Grantaire asked in a forlorn voice, probably assuming that Dis Bear could not understand him.

Because Grantaire didn’t seem threatening, but rather heartsick, Dis Bear nodded.

Grantaire looked incredulous for a moment, as though unsure whether or not the bear was nodding in reaction to his question or merely twitching.

Dis Bear made a motion with his arm, hoping to indicate that Grantaire should go on.

“I’m hopelessly in love,” Grantaire continued, shaking his head, “with someone who despises me. Enjolras said, ‘Grantaire, you are too drunk to be of any use to us. Just leave.’”

Grantaire paused for a moment, taking a long drink from his bottle, and seeming on the verge of tears.

Dis Bear let out what he hoped was a reassuring roar, causing Grantaire to jump into the air and move away cautiously, wiping tears on his sleeve and looking at Dis Bear in fright.

Dis Bear felt incredibly guilty for scaring this person that could become his friend, with whom he was already able to empathize.

“Joly and Bossuet were kind enough to walk me home,” Grantaire said, before remembering that he was not, in fact, home. “I appear to have given them incorrect directions. Maybe I’ll just die here. Maybe I’ll be eaten by a bear. Enjolras will be happier for it.”

Dis Bear was insulted that Grantaire thought he would eat him, and must have looked so, because Grantaire quickly added,

“Not you. Another bear. A ferocious one.”

Dis Bear didn’t know whether to be offended or not, and desperately wished that he was better at speaking French. He knew that Fleur and Meneur were both fluent. Although Dis Bear could understand the language well enough, he was awful at pronunciations. He decided to try, regardless,

“I’m ferocious,” he attempted.

Grantaire let out a small noise of terror, and stood to his feet, stumbling slightly, losing his balance, and catching himself on a tree. The display of clumsiness reminded Dis Bear disturbingly of himself.

He wanted to speak further, but was worried that any other attempts would scare Grantaire away completely.

After gaining his footing, Grantaire appeared to have a revelation. He took another long drink of wine, before casting the bottle onto the ground dramatically.

“Aha! I understand you, Monsieur Bear!” Grantaire began. “You are saying that you would like to meet Enjolras. Very well. I will take you to him. I will say, ‘Enjolras, look. I have brought a bear for your revolution.’ Enjolras will surely scoff at first until I explain. ‘Enjolras,’ I will say, ‘the National Guard is no match for a bear. They will run screaming in terror, much like our good friends Joly and Bossuet.’ Well, better not to mention them. So, what do you say?”

Grantaire was looking intently at Dis Bear, who had a rather hard time tracking Grantaire’s words.

Finally, he gave a short nod.

“Excellent!” Grantaire said, once again swaying drunkenly into the tree. “Come with me, then.”

Grantaire stumbled away at a slow pace, unused to walking in the woods at night whilst heavily intoxicated. Dis Bear followed hesitantly. Although he had only just met Grantaire, Dis Bear knew that he would need to prove himself beyond measure to the sleuth if he ever hoped to be welcomed back, and be worthy of Fleur. What better way than to help win a revolution for his new friend?

Thankfully the streets of Paris were cast in darkness and completely deserted as Grantaire and Dis Bear made their way down the _Rue Soufflot_ to Grantaire’s home.

It was a small, damp apartment with a leaking roof and incredibly unstable walls. The floor was littered with empty wine bottles and paintings that appeared long abandoned. Grantaire went about setting up a few blankets on the floor, presumably for Dis Bear to sleep.

Then, without another word, he blew out the candle that he’d lit upon entering, and fell onto his mattress, snoring loudly.

Dis Bear settled himself onto the makeshift bed and hoped that things would become clearer in the morning.


	2. Chapter 2

Dis Bear was awoken by incoherent mumbling coming from the bed. Grantaire rolled over with unfocused eyes, staring at the bear on his floor as though unsure if he were dreaming.

“I’m still drunk,” he muttered, and Dis Bear let out an affirmative roar.

The roar was apparently not as casual as he would have liked, and Grantaire shrieked, dashing from his bed and barricading himself in the small bathroom.

Although the door was flimsy and could have been broken down by a small child, Dis Bear wanted to respect Grantaire’s privacy, still hoping that he’d be able to participate in this supposed revolution and prove himself to the sleuth.

After a few moments, Grantaire peaked outside the door before hesitantly making his way back into the small bedroom, kicking away a few empty wine bottles.

“So,” Grantaire said in a quiet voice, rubbing his hands over his face, “I brought a bear home last night. Cool.” He paused before sighing loudly and asking, “why did I do that?”

Dis Bear realized that he would have to once again try and make contact with Grantaire. Gathering all of his knowledge and French-speaking ability he roared,

“To help with the revolution.”

Grantaire flew onto the bed and attempted to cover himself with a blanket, as though that was enough to shield him from a ferocious, man-eating bear. Thankfully, Dis Bear was no such beast, and merely looked at Grantaire expectantly.

“Did you just say…revolution?” Grantaire whispered, cautiously.

Dis Bear roared, nodding his head as he knew was common amongst humans to signify a positive response.

“Right,” Grantaire said, speaking to himself, “I remember. I’m going to present you to Enjolras, and he’ll like me all the more for helping win the revolution.” Grantaire paused a moment, his head falling into his hands. “I should stop coming up with plans when I’m drunk.”

With that, he stood from the bed, avoiding Dis Bear, and walking over to the small kitchenette. He pulled out a bottle of wine from the cabinet, uncorked it, and took a long drink.

“To your health, Monsieur Bear,” he said, toasting the air.

His drinking was interrupted by frantic knocking coming from the door. Dis Bear noted that whoever knocking was only moments away from destroying the door, which already looked about to cave in.

“Grantaire?” the voice called, panicked. Dis Bear recognized the voice from last night.

 “Ah, Joly,” Grantaire said, without moving. “Come in.”

Joly burst into the room, carrying a tissue close to his face as though Grantaire’s apartment was filled with deadly diseases.

“I was so worried about you last ni—” Joly’s concerned tone became a scream upon seeing the bear sitting on the floor. He bolted for the door, slamming it shut behind him.

“So much for a friendly visit,” Grantaire commented.

Dis Bear couldn’t help but feel guilty for scaring away all of Grantaire’s friends, and was about to suggest that Grantaire find another way to impress his love, when Grantaire took a guarded step towards him.

“You’re friendly, right?” he asked. “You’ll help defeat the National Guard? You won’t eat Enjolras?”

Dis Bear nodded again.

“What’s your name?” Grantaire said, his lips already red from wine. “I’m Grantaire. But you could call me R.”

“Dis Bear,” Dis Bear roared.

“Dis Bear?” Grantaire repeated, before bursting into laughter. It took him several moments before he could calm down, during which the black bear sat in offended silence, feeling as though he were being ridiculed back in his sleuth. No one ever took him seriously.

“My apologies, Monsieur Dis Bear,” Grantaire said, his face flushed from laughter, “that’s the most absurd name I’ve ever heard. Your parents clearly weren’t very creative.”

“Whatever,” Dis Bear roared, trying to act nonchalant. He was hurt that his only friend in this strange land was laughing at him.

“Okay, let’s head to the Café Musain,” Grantaire said, “thankfully I live nearby, and am familiar with a back route. No one should see you.”

Grantaire was correct in assuming that they’d remain unseen, and they entered the Café Musain through the back door, which he knew from experience was kept unlocked.

This was more convenient, anyway, Grantaire mused, since walking a bear through the main entrance wasn’t exactly subtle or practical.

Dis Bear grew incredibly anxious as he heard raised voices coming from behind the door that Grantaire was about to open. He hated large crowds, especially when confronted with strangers. He doubted he’d be able to blend in, and only hoped that Grantaire could keep everyone away.

“Uh,” Dis Bear began, trying to get Grantaire’s attention.

“Yes, Dis Bear?” Grantaire said, pulling his hand away from the door that he was about to open, leading them into the back room where the Les Amis held their meetings.

“Social anxiety,” Dis Bear explained, hoping that Grantaire would understand.

Grantaire started blankly at the bear for a moment, before finally comprehending his words.

“Oh, I see,” Grantaire said, “I will inform everyone.”

With that, he led Dis Bear into the meeting of the Les Amis.

The other amis had not yet noticed Grantaire. Dis Bear was lingering behind him, still halfway into the hallway.

“No, I’m serious, he had a bear sleeping on his floor,” Joly said, frantically, clearly in the middle of a riveting tale recalling his morning visit to Grantaire’s.

“Ahem,” Grantaire coughed, calling all the attention to him. Since it was early and the meeting had not yet officially begun, only Joly, Bossuet, and Courfeyrac were in attendance, gathered together around a table.

“Grantaire!” Courfeyrac greeted, a smile on his face. “Is it true you have a pet bear? Joly was just telling us.”

Grantaire could tell from Courfeyrac’s joking tone that he assumed Joly was exaggerating as usual.

“It’s true,” Grantaire said, and, turning quietly to Dis Bear, continued, “wait in the hallway until I’ve properly introduced you. We don’t want to send everyone running to the streets.”

Grantaire entered the room, walking over to the table.

“It’s true,” he repeated, “Joly is correct. I met a talking bear in the woods last night and I have brought him to the Café Musain in hopes that he might assist us in our revolution.”

“You’re drunk,” was Courfeyrac’s response, looking worriedly between Joly, Bossuet, and Grantaire.

“Not yet,” Grantaire responded. “The bear is in the hallway. Before I bring him in, I need to inform you that he has rather severe social anxiety.”

The amis were now looking at Grantaire as though he himself were a talking bear.

“Grantaire,” Courfeyrac said, no longer laughing. “Be serious. You’re going to give Joly a heart attack.”

“Joly, you don’t have to be afraid,” Grantaire explained, “Dis Bear is entirely friendly. I passed out drunk last night and he didn’t once try to eat me.”

“How do you know, if you were passed out? Maybe he tried and decided you didn’t taste good,” Joly said.

“Wait,” Courfeyrac interrupted, once again looking about to burst into laughter, “did you just call him ‘Dis Bear’?”

“That’s his name,” Grantaire said, exasperated. He wished that Dis Bear had a more sophisticated sounding name, something that might inspire trust in the amis and fear in the hearts of the National Guard.

“Well, bring him in, then,” Courfeyrac said, waving his hand in the air as though he’d given up trying to talk sense into Grantaire and Joly.

“I will,” Grantaire said, “but don’t say anything to him. Like I said, social anxiety. Don’t make him feel uncomfortable.”

“Don’t make _him_ feel uncomfortable?” Joly asked, already prepared to dash out the door.

Ignoring Joly, Grantaire walked over to the back door and invited Dis Bear in.

Dis Bear, who’d been listening intently to the conversation and following most of it, walked in slowly, hoping not to scare anyone away.

He wasn’t a very large bear, but he supposed in Paris any bear was considered terrifying and unusual.

He entered the café and stood near a corner, a good distance away from the table where the three boys were sitting.

“Oh my god,” Courfeyrac exclaimed, no longer looking so smug.

Suddenly the door swung open, revealing Jean Prouvaire, Bahorel, and Feuilly, all looking incredibly tired. Jean Prouvaire was the first to notice the bear.

“What’s going on?” he asked, rather casually.

“Grantaire brought a bear to the meeting,” Courfeyrac explained.

“I can see that,” Prouvaire said, still frozen in the doorway. Bahorel and Feuilly were behind him with wide eyes. “Why?”

“Uh…” Grantaire stuttered for an answer. “For the revolution, of course.”

“And to impress Enjolras,” Courfeyrac said, laughing. Grantaire wondered why Courfeyrac was in such a laughing mood today and repressed the urge to ask Dis Bear to go over and roar at him.

Unfortunately, Grantaire had the inevitable bad habit of blushing furiously whenever his obvious crush on Enjolras was brought up, and struggled to defend himself against Courfeyrac’s accusation.

“A bear will be useful,” he said, looking down, “he wants to help.”

“How do you know?” Prouvaire asked, still remaining by the door. “He might be lost. He might be searching for his family, for a way back home.”

“Because I asked him,” Grantaire explained. “He can talk.”

“Oh,” Prouvaire said, simply. “A talking bear. Okay.”

Before Grantaire could explain about Dis Bear’s discomfort around strangers and ask that they please not call too much attention to him, the door burst open revealing Enjolras and Combeferre, who were talking animatedly and didn’t notice that a barrier of people was blocking their path. Crashing into Prouvaire, Bahorel, and Feuilly, the group toppled ungracefully into each other and onto the floor.

Courfeyrac once again burst into uncontrollable laughter, and even Grantaire had to admit that Enjolras’s complete look of shock at suddenly being on the ground was hilarious, if not totally adorable.

“What on earth!” Combeferre exclaimed, straightening his glasses.

The group struggled to untangle from one another and stand up. Enjolras was adjusting his red coat, trying to subtly fix his ponytail which had become askew.

“Sorry,” Jean Prouvaire said, as though the entire incident was his fault.

“Why are you all standing in the doorway?” Enjolras asked, sounding incredibly annoyed.

“Grantaire brought a bear to the meeting,” Courfeyrac called over, still laughing.

“Grantaire?” Enjolras asked, as though he’d momentarily forgotten that Grantaire was a person who came to the meetings. Grantaire wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case.

“Stop talking about the bear,” Grantaire warned Courfeyrac. He was afraid that too much attention might scare Dis Bear away and ruin his whole plan for revolutionary success.

It was Combeferre who noticed the bear first, and put a hand on Enjolras’s arm, letting out a gasp.

Grantaire tried not to be overwhelmed with jealousy that Combeferre seemed to be able to touch Enjolras so casually and not be given a disgusted look, like the one Grantaire assumed he’d receive if he ever dared.

Instead, Enjolras simply looked curious, following Combeferre’s gaze to the black bear in the corner, growing incredibly frightened by the increasing group of people.

“Oh my god!” Enjolras shouted, and took a quick step backwards, knocking into the group who’d yet to move from the entranceway.

Of course, Enjolras probably had an extreme fear of bears and would now have even more reason to despise Grantaire.

“He’s friendly,” Grantaire tried, weakly.

“Grantaire,” Combeferre began in a scolding tone, “get rid of this bear immediately. I’m aware you treat these meetings as a joke, but you must realize that bringing a bear here endangers everyone’s life.”

“This bear has social anxiety,” Grantaire said, defensively, “so stop referring to him. Also, have you ever thought that a bear might be useful in a march against the National Guard?”

“No, I haven’t!” Combeferre argued, “because a bear is dangerous to both sides!”

“I agree with Combeferre,” Joly said, clearly still of the belief that Dis Bear would try to eat them at first chance.

Grantaire shot Joly a glare that said _whose side are you on_ before throwing his hands into the air and trying one last attempt,

“Enjolras,” he said, blushing when Enjolras looked over at him, “what do you say? A bear could be useful, don’t you think?”

The irritated frown that Enjolras reserved solely for whenever Grantaire spoke seemed to soften, and he looked as though he were seriously considering the pros and cons of inviting a bear into the Les Amis.

“I suppose,” he said finally, still looking terrified of the bear.

“You’re kidding!” Combeferre said.

“A bear gives us an unexpected advantage,” Enjolras reasoned, sounding as though he were trying to convince himself as well as the group.

“We can’t just keep a bear in the café,” Combeferre said, sounding utterly done. “We’ll get into trouble, and get kicked out. Then we’ll have to move our meetings back to the fish market.”

Enjolras wrinkled his nose at the memory. Apparently before Grantaire stumbled upon the Amis, they used to hold meetings at the local fish market, which was often too smelly and loud, and begged relocation, especially after an unfortunate incident in which Enjolras had been smacked in the face with a trout.

Dis Bear thought meetings at a fish market sounded rather pleasant, but didn’t say so.

“We’ll take care not to be seen,” Enjolras attempted.

Combeferre looked entirely unconvinced, but didn’t argue further. He knew as well as anyone how stubborn Enjolras was, and Grantaire was pleased that he seemed devoted to the bear.

“Just one thing,” Grantaire said, coming closer to the group and talking in a low voice. The other amis were looking strangely at him as though unsure why he suddenly felt the need to act suspicious, and Enjolras took a hesitant step closer. Fighting the urge to lean forward and whisper in Enjolras’s ear, Grantaire explained,

“Dis Bear has social anxiety, so please don’t call too much attention to him. I think it’d be best if he just stayed in the corner with me, and we could use him only during emergencies.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow.

“You really named him ‘Dis Bear’?” he asked.

Grantaire sighed. “Yes. Yes I did.”

Enjolras scoffed, and walked passed Grantaire, skirting around Dis Bear and sending him a fearful glance, before taking his place at the front of the room and beginning the meeting.

Grantaire didn’t miss the glare that Combeferre shot him before taking his place beside Enjolras. The rest of the amis warily walked to their seats, careful not to look Dis Bear in the eye, or upset him in any way.

Grantaire joined Dis Bear in the corner.

“That went well,” he said, even though it hadn’t gone well at all.

Dis Bear roared softly, causing Enjolras to nearly fall off of the chair he was standing on. He looked at Grantaire worriedly, and Grantaire gave him a reassuring smile. Enjolras just scoffed and went back to talking about France.

“Well, that’s Enjolras,” Grantaire said quietly to Dis Bear, so that he wouldn’t interrupt the meeting. “He’s really fantastic. Unfortunately I think he might have a small fear of bears.”

“Sorry,” Dis Bear roared.

“Not your fault,” Grantaire said, patting Dis Bear on the shoulder and wishing he had some wine, “Enjolras probably already likes you more than me. At least you’ll aid the revolution.”

The rest of the meeting went on like this: Grantaire and Dis Bear bonded over their tragic love lives, Enjolras talked about France, Combeferre stared at Enjolras with hearts in his eyes, Courfeyrac looked over at Grantaire and laughed, and the rest of the amis were more uncertain than ever about the revolution.


	3. Chapter 3

Grantaire and Dis Bear arrived early to the next day’s meeting in order to avoid the crowds that sometimes gather outside the café on weekends. Within the hour, the rest of the amis arrived, leaving only Courfeyrac missing.

“Does anyone know where he is?” Enjolras asked, not looking up from the pamphlets he was writing.

“I’m not sure, Enjolras,” Combeferre said, leaning over to look at the pamphlets and conspicuously putting an arm around Enjolras.

Grantaire brought a wine bottle to his lips and imagined a world where he could do that.

“Tragic love,” Dis Bear roared, using his large paw to pat Grantaire reassuringly on the shoulder. Grantaire tried to smile but couldn’t quite manage. It was too early and he was too lovesick.

He was looking down at the bottle in his hands when he heard a small cough.

Looking up, he saw Enjolras hovering over him, arms crossed, sending fearful glances every so often towards Dis Bear.

“Something I can help you with, Apollo?” Grantaire said, forcing a smile, his heart beating fast.

“Can we talk?” Enjolras asked, sounding incredibly bothered.

“I suppose,” Grantaire said, casually. Grabbing his bottle, he stood up and led Enjolras into the hallway that connected their meeting room with the rest of the Café Musain.

He turned to face Enjolras, and was once again overwhelmed by the simple fact that Enjolras was the most beautiful person in the entire world. Even with that perpetual scowl on his face, he still managed to look like an angel. Grantaire couldn’t help but blush, and only hoped that it was dark enough in the hallway that his futile pining was discreet.

“I wish to speak about the bear,” Enjolras began. “I need you to be serious with me. Do you really think that bear is tame enough to help us?”

“I’m always serious with you, Apollo,” Grantaire said, grinning.

Enjolras rolled his eyes and, if possible, looked even more irritated. Grantaire adored when he was able to get under Enjolras’s skin. It was the only time Enjolras ever seemed to pay attention to him at all, and he treasured these moments endlessly.

Still, Enjolras was concerned for the safety of his friends and for the success of his revolution, so Grantaire continued,

“Of course Dis Bear is safe. He’s been sitting in the café all morning, not hurting anyone. As long as you don’t call attention to him, he’ll be fine.”

Enjolras sighed, and uncrossed his arms. “I had no idea you were such a natural with animals.”

Grantaire blinked once. He’d never really considered himself to be good with animals, since Dis Bear was the first animal of which he was ever really put in charge.

“It’s not so hard,” Grantaire explained. “Animals just take to me, I guess.”

“It’s impressive,” Enjolras said, simply. Grantaire realized that Enjolras was, in fact, complimenting him, and took a moment to catch his breath.

“I’m sure Dis Bear would like you as well, Enjolras,” Grantaire said.

“I don’t know,” Enjolras said, looking insecure for the first time in his life, “I’ve only ever had one pet. It was my parents’ cat. It hated me.”

Grantaire couldn’t help but smile at the idea of a cat hating young Enjolras.

“What’d you do to it?” Grantaire teased.

“Nothing!” Enjolras said, randomly defensive about a cat that he owned ten years ago. “I tried feeding it catnip once and it bit my hand. I still have the scar.”

Enjolras held out his arm for Grantaire’s inspection, but there was no scar. Enjolras’s skin was perfect and unmarked, just like the rest of him.

“Do you see it?” Enjolras asked.

“That looks serious, Apollo,” Grantaire lied, trying to hold back laughter. “You could have lost your arm.”

Enjolras’s eyes narrowed when he realized that Grantaire was making fun of him.

“I know you consider our meetings and our revolution to be a joke,” Enjolras scoffed. “I’m just making sure your uselessness hasn’t extended to causing actual harm to our friends.”

Grantaire couldn’t help but feel hurt at Enjolras’s words. There was nothing that meant more to him than the friendships he’d made since joining the Les Amis. He couldn’t believe that Enjolras honestly thought he’d ever put them in danger. His surprise and confusion must have shown on his face because Enjolras quickly said,

“Let’s just go back to the meeting.” His tone was softer, and he even tried for a smile. Grantaire figured that was the closest he’d get to an apology.

When they entered the room, they were immediately approached by Combeferre who apparently couldn’t wait to tell Enjolras about his plans for the barricades. Grantaire went over to Dis Bear, wine in hand, preparing to mope and stare lovingly at Enjolras for the rest of the meeting.

Suddenly, Courfeyrac entered the room, alongside another boy who Grantaire had not seen before. He had brown eyes, freckles all over his face, and an expression of utter bewilderment.

“Sorry I’m late,” Courfeyrac said. He motioned to the person next to him. “This is my friend from university, Marius Pontmercy.”

Enjolras scoffed. “Sounds like a bourgeois name.”

Grantaire laughed a little because Enjolras was totally bourgeois and no one was brave enough to point that out.

“Enjolras,” Courfeyrac said, sounding exasperated. “Marius wants to help with our revolution.”

“Really?” Enjolras said, approaching Marius. “You want to change France? You agree with our ideals?”

“I think Napoleon is the greatest,” Marius responded.

Enjolras looked at Marius for a moment, and then sat on the floor, letting his head fall into his hands. He was utterly done.

“Marius,” he said, without bothering to look up, “France doesn’t need Corsica to be great. My mother is the Republic. Get out.”

“What?” Marius said, seeming uncertain what he’d done to offend Enjolras so greatly.

“Get out!” Enjolras practically screeched, throwing his hands in the air.

“Fine!” Marius said, marching out, tripping on the chair that Joly was sitting in.

“Excuse me,” Joly said, softly, but Marius was already gone.

“Good job, Courfeyrac,” Grantaire said, feeling justified after all the shit he’d taken the previous day, “please bring more of your friends.”

“Shut up, Grantaire,” Courfeyrac defended, “bring more bears.”

“Maybe I will. Bears are helpful.”

“Enough,” Enjolras said, not bothering to get up from his position on the floor. “Let’s focus on the barricades. Combeferre will discuss the details.”

And discuss the details he did. The plan sounded dangerous and hopeless, embodying everything that Grantaire disliked about the Friends of the ABC.

Grantaire drank the rest of his bottle and started in on another, looking at Enjolras, who was sitting in the opposite corner.

Of course, Grantaire had been staring at him for so long that eventually Enjolras looked up and made eye contact, causing Grantaire to blush furiously and look away.

“How can I help?” Dis Bear asked. He’d been practicing speaking French with Grantaire at the apartment, and was now nearly fluent. He was also better at roaring softly, so as not to interrupt the rest of the meeting whenever he wanted to speak.

“With what, Monsieur Dis Bear?” Grantaire asked, still red from Enjolras briefly glancing at him.

“The revolution.”

“Just be yourself,” Grantaire offered. “You may feel insecure, but you’re actually quite frightening. So just go out there and be the scariest bear you can be.” He paused before adding, “And I’m sure winning a revolution will impress Fleur.”

Dis Bear had already confided in Grantaire about his unrequited love, and Grantaire was more than able to empathize. When the meeting was finished, the two of them stood to return home to Grantaire’s slowly disintegrating apartment. Enjolras was still sitting on the floor surrounded by pamphlets when they left, and Grantaire shouted a goodbye to him on the way out.

Enjolras twitched at the sudden noise, and ignored Grantaire.


	4. Chapter 4

After drinking himself into a stupor the previous night (alongside Dis Bear who’d had his first taste of alcohol and decided it was disgusting), both Grantaire and Dis Bear were late to the next day’s meeting.

To Grantaire’s surprise, when he finally arrived, the amis were busy cleaning guns, sewing flags, and generally getting shit together.

“What’s going on?” Grantaire asked, after leading Dis Bear into his secluded corner.

“Didn’t you hear the news?” Combeferre asked, looking down at Grantaire both literally and figuratively.

“Obviously not,” Grantaire mumbled.

“General Lamarque is dead,” Combeferre explained, “we’re going to his funeral and joining the people, who will certainly use this occasion to rebel.”

“They certainly won’t,” Grantaire argued under his breath, not wanting to fight in his hungover state.

“If you aren’t going to help us,” Enjolras snapped, whilst cleaning a gun, “then you can just leave.”

“I wish to be nowhere but beside you, Apollo,” Grantaire said. He meant to sound joking but his tone was grave enough that Enjolras stopped cleaning and looked up, his wide eyes gazing at Grantaire with confusion.

Grantaire shrugged, and walked over to Courfeyrac, Joly, and Bossuet who were organizing the weapons.

“Where’s your friend?” Grantaire asked, pouring himself a glass of wine.

Before Courfeyrac could respond, Marius flew into the room, eyes wide, looking incredibly flustered.

“Marius,” Courfeyrac greeted. “What’s going on?”

Grantaire stole a glance at Enjolras, who was glaring at Marius, cleaning his gun threateningly.

“Courfeyrac, I have fallen in love,” Marius said, in a loud, disruptive voice. “With a girl called Cosette.”

“Congratulations,” Courfeyrac said without much enthusiasm. “Are you going to the funeral of General Lamarque?”

Marius stared at Courfeyrac like he was speaking Chinese.

“Didn’t you hear me, Courfeyrac?” Marius called out. “I am in love! I can think of nothing else but Cosette’s golden hair, her blue eyes, her soft voice – like a bird! Like an angel!”

Enjolras set down his gun and was marching over to Marius, looking more pissed than Grantaire had ever seen him before.

“Marius,” Enjolras said, “who cares about your lonely soul? We strive towards a larger goal.”

“Nice rhyme, Apollo,” Grantaire acknowledged.

“Be quiet, Grantaire,” Enjolras warned.

“So tell me about this love of yours, Marius,” Grantaire encouraged, trying to rile up Enjolras.

“We have not yet spoken,” Marius explained, “but I am going to write her a poem and leave it on her doorstep so that when she reads it, she knows how deeply I feel for her, and will hopefully give me a chance.”

“Definitely not creepy,” Grantaire said. “I happen to be a talent at poetry. It should begin like this…Red! I feel my soul on fire!”

Ignoring Enjolras’s murderous gaze, Marius continued, “and then…red! The color of desire! Black! The color of…” he gazed around the room for a moment before saying, “the color of Dis Bear!”

All of the amis turned to look at Marius and then to Dis Bear, who grew incredibly uncomfortable under so much attention. Before Grantaire could remedy the situation, or explain to Marius that talking about a bear wasn’t the least bit poetic, Dis Bear took off through the back door, running for his life.

“Excellent, thank you, Marius,” Enjolras said, his voice dripping disdain, “you just scared away our one chance to win the revolution. Napoleon would be so proud of you.”

“Sorry,” Marius apologized, still thinking about the next line to the poem.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras said, “we need to bring Dis Bear back. Do you think he went far?”

“I have no idea,” Grantaire admitted. “He probably went into the woods.”

“Combeferre,” Enjolras called over, “can you handle the funeral and the barricade preparations?”

“Of course, Enjolras,” Combeferre said, “but you can’t really be considering going into the woods with Grantaire to look for the bear? Send someone else.”

“This may surprise everyone here,” Enjolras began, “but I actually excel at hiking. So I will accompany Grantaire.”

Everyone, including Grantaire, was indeed surprised by this announcement. Grantaire felt butterflies form in his stomach at the idea of wandering through the woods with Enjolras.

“Let’s go, Grantaire,” Enjolras said, and abruptly left the café, Grantaire hurrying behind him.

“Have fun, you two,” Courfeyrac cooed, in a knowing voice. Grantaire resisted the urge to run back in and teach him a lesson in subtlety.

They walked all the way to the woods in silence, and Grantaire could tell that Enjolras was incredibly bothered by this setback.

“I should be helping with the barricade,” Enjolras was muttering as they entered the woods, “I should be at the funeral of General Lamarque…”

“I can look for the bear, Enjolras,” Grantaire tried. “You don’t have to come.”

“Nonsense, Grantaire,” Enjolras said, dismissively waving his hand. “This will go faster with the two of us together.”

As they wandered deeper into the woods, Grantaire began calling out Dis Bear’s name, hoping that he’d hear Grantaire and come over. Grantaire felt incredibly guilty for indirectly causing Dis Bear’s panic attack, especially since Enjolras was now called away from the revolution he’d spent so long planning. Grantaire really was a horrible friend, to both Dis Bear and Enjolras. He made everyone around him miserable.

“Are you okay?” Enjolras asked, breaking Grantaire out of his inner monologue of self-loathing.

“Of course,” Grantaire said, trying for his usual sarcastic tone. It didn’t deliver.

“I’m sure Dis Bear isn’t angry with you,” Enjolras said.

Enjolras was looking at him with bright blue eyes, a look of concern on his face. It was almost too much to handle, having all of Enjolras’s attention on him.

“I’m sure he’s just scared,” Enjolras continued, taking a step closer to Grantaire. They were still walking deeper into the woods, and Grantaire noticed rain clouds gathering above them.

“You’re right,” Grantaire agreed, certain that he’d find some way or another to gain back Dis Bear’s trust. “I’m just sorry you have to miss the funeral.”

“Well, we can blame Marius for that,” Enjolras said, and his face grew red with frustration as he remembered the newest addition to the amis, “a Bonapartist, honestly—”

Enjolras was interrupted as he suddenly tripped over a branch and fell dramatically to the ground, landing in the dirt. Grantaire immediately reached out his hands to catch Enjolras but missed by at least a foot.

“Enjolras!” Grantaire called, and knelt beside him.

Instead of trying to get up, Enjolras just rolled on to his back and put his hands over his face. It was obvious that he was extremely embarrassed. Grantaire didn’t think it was possible, but he fell even more in love.

“I thought you said you were an experienced hiker,” Grantaire tried, hoping to lighten the mood.

“I lied,” Enjolras said, his voice muffled by his hands.

“Why?” Grantaire asked. “You didn’t trust me to find the bear alone?”

Before Enjolras could reply, there was a loud crack of thunder, followed by an immediate downpour.

Within moments, Enjolras and Grantaire were both soaked. Thankfully, Grantaire always had the good judgment to carry an umbrella with him wherever he went. He pulled it out and cast it over both him and Enjolras, who had finally stood up and was soaking wet, his golden curls sticking to his face. He looked the very image of distressed.

“It’ll be raining on the barricade,” Enjolras groaned, sounding miserable.

Grantaire could hardly spare a thought for anything other than the shivering, wet Enjolras plastered to his side, eager to be out of the rain. Of course, Grantaire’s umbrella wasn’t all that large, and they were having a nearly impossible time both staying under it.

“Maybe we should give up the search for today,” Grantaire suggested.

“No,” Enjolras said in a low voice, so close that Grantaire could feel his heart beating, “we need the bear.”

They attempted to walk through the woods, both of them clinging to the umbrella as the rain refused to let up. The ground was becoming muddy and slippery and more than often one of them would trip and the other would awkwardly try to balance whilst still holding onto the umbrella. They would never find Dis Bear at such a rate.

“Here,” Grantaire said, handing over the umbrella to Enjolras. “I’m okay walking in the rain.”

“Are you sure?” Enjolras asked, looking skeptical. It was practically a monsoon, complete with wind, thunder, and lightning. Basically, the worst weather possible for being in the woods searching for a bear.

“Of course, Apollo,” Grantaire said, giving his best smile.

“Okay,” Enjolras said, still sounding unsure. “Thank you, Grantaire.”

Grantaire shrugged casually, though internally he was screaming.

As they continued through the forest, calling out for Dis Bear over the storm, Grantaire was quickly becoming numb. It wasn’t exactly cold out, but the combination of wind and rain made him feel as though any minute he could die of hypothermia. He was shivering violently as they walked, and struggled to brush the rain out of his eyes and keep pace with Enjolras.

It felt like they’d been going around for several hours, when Grantaire noticed that Enjolras had stopped walking.

Before he could ask what the problem was, Enjolras grabbed Grantaire by the arm, dragged him under the umbrella, and embraced him in a full hug.

“W-What…?” he tried to ask, but he was stuttering too much from chills to speak.

“You’re freezing,” Enjolras said, still holding Grantaire close, one hand in his black hair. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“I feel fine,” Grantaire lied, but his shivering gave him away.

Enjolras scoffed gently, and held Grantaire close. After a few moments, he pulled back, still keeping the both of them under the small umbrella.

“Let’s head back,” Enjolras said, “I’m sure Dis Bear will find his way home. Or, at least, he’s more adept at surviving in the woods than we are.”

“Which isn’t saying much,” Grantaire muttered, earning a small smile from Enjolras. The expression made his heart flutter and he suddenly felt warm despite the rain soaking him.

They made their way slowly back into the city and to the café, huddling close together. Enjolras seemed to take Grantaire’s comfort and safety upon himself, feeling overwhelmingly guilty for allowing him to suffer for so long in the rain.

Once they entered the café, Enjolras immediately pushed Grantaire into a chair and proceeded to attempt to take off his wet clothes.

“Whoa, Enjolras,” Grantaire said, incredibly nervous and self-conscious about his body, especially in front of the love of his life, “what’re you doing?”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow as though what he was doing was obvious, and said, “you’ll freeze if you stay in those wet clothes.”

“I live close by,” Grantaire said, “I’ll just go change.” He stood to leave, but barely made it a few feet before Enjolras attacked him with a blanket that he’d seemingly pulled out of thin air.

Enjolras was rubbing the blanket through Grantaire’s hair and along his arms, a look of worry on his face. Grantaire was moments away from swooning.

“Stop fussing, I’m fine,” Grantaire said, gently pushing Enjolras and his blanket away. “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” Enjolras consented, and he actually looked a little hurt that Grantaire didn’t want his help.

All of a sudden, the rest of the amis, including Marius, came through the door, soaking wet from the rain.

“Enjolras!” Combeferre said, immediately running to his side. “The people are rising! The funeral was a success, now we just need to build the barricade.”

“I’m going to go yell through the streets for people to throw furniture out of their windows,” Courfeyrac said, running back outside.

“Excellent,” Enjolras said, the light of rebellion ablaze in his eyes. He was about to follow Courfeyrac outside when he turned to Grantaire and asked, “will you be okay?”

“I’ll be fine, Enjolras,” Grantaire said, rolling his eyes. He tried his best to look exasperated by Enjolras’s coddling but in actuality it was the best thing that ever happened to him.

Dashing back to his apartment, he found it completely deserted, much to his dismay. He was hoping that Dis Bear, after being frightened by Marius, might find his way back to Grantaire’s home. He quickly changed out of his wet clothes, putting on a red coat that he thought might impress Enjolras. He couldn’t hope that Enjolras would be still interested in him when he returned, as the rebellion was nigh.

The abrupt thought of what the rebellion entailed floored Grantaire. All of a sudden, he had trouble catching his breath. Enjolras was very likely going to die tonight. The National Guard was probably already on their way, and whatever barricade the amis thought that they could build would be no match for them.

Grantaire felt sick, and it had little to do with the extended time he’d spent in the rain. He wanted to throw up thinking about Enjolras being shot to death by the National Guard. Hurrying back outside, slamming the door shut behind him and shaking his entire apartment, he saw that furniture was indeed being thrown down from the windows, and that both the people of Paris and the amis were gathering it to build a wall.

He couldn’t see Enjolras anywhere.

“Grantaire,” he heard a voice say. He turned around and saw Marius of all people.

“The National Guard is on their way, we better get behind the barricade.”

Grantaire just stared at him. He wanted to yell at Marius for scaring away Dis Bear, the one chance they had to defeat the National Guard without extensive fatalities, but couldn’t find the rage to do so. Instead he asked,

“Where’s Enjolras?”

“No idea,” Marius said, and he ran behind the barricade, Grantaire following closely in his wake.

Behind the barricade, the amis were busy organizing supplies. Combeferre and Courfeyrac had taken charge, ordering everyone about.

“Ah, Marius, Grantaire,” Courfeyrac greeted when he saw them, “the barricade looks good, right?”

Grantaire had to admit that the barricade looked impressive, but couldn’t focus on anything other than the fact that Enjolras was nowhere to be found.

Gunshots were heard in the distance, and Joly and Feuilly came running over announcing that the National Guard was within sight.

Grantaire hadn’t imagined the rebellion going like this. They’d been planning it for so long, and now it was finally here. He felt slightly feverish and considered the possibility that he’d gotten sick from spending so long in the rain. He sneezed rather ungracefully.

“Oh my goodness,” Joly said, backing away. “You’ve definitely contracted pneumonia. Even in the summer, staying outside in the rain is dangerous.”

“I’m fine,” Grantaire grumbled, not wanting his sickness to distract the amis in any way – not when one diversion could mean the difference between life and death.

“Citizens!” Grantaire heard Enjolras’s voice, and whipped his head in the direction from which it had come. Enjolras looked radiant, carrying a red flag, his hair still slightly damp from the rain, floating in curls around his head like a halo.

“Citizens, our time is here. The National Guard has arrived.” He walked past the group carrying his red flag, and prepared to climb the barricade.

From the other side, Grantaire could hear the captain of the Guard shouting orders to his soldiers, threatening the amis, telling them to back down, that they were all going to die.

Grantaire felt a chill run through his body that was half cold, half fear.

“Enjolras,” he said, and his voice was smaller than he would have liked.

Enjolras was already halfway up the barricade, flag in hand.

“Enjolras!” he called, louder. This time Enjolras glanced down, looking surprised. Stowing the flag, he jumped down and approached Grantaire.

“I didn’t expect you to come back,” he said.

“Come on,” Grantaire said, sniffling from his cold, “you know I wouldn’t miss your revolution.”

“It’s dangerous, and you don’t believe in it,” Enjolras said, and he dug into his pocket to reveal a white handkerchief, embroidered with his family’s emblem. He handed it to Grantaire.

“No one will know you’re bourgeois carrying this around, Apollo,” Grantaire tried to tease, wiping his nose as gracefully as possible on Enjolras’s beautiful handkerchief. He didn’t know what to do with it afterwards, as handing it back would be disgusting, so he just held it awkwardly. Enjolras continued to stare at him.

“You should leave,” Enjolras said, “you don’t have to die for this.”

“I’m not leaving,” Grantaire said, smiling. “Where would I go?”

Enjolras was about to speak when a volley of gunshots rang out only a few feet away. Enjolras and Grantaire both jumped at the sound, and Grantaire saw a flash of fear in Enjolras’s eyes.

“I’m going to put up our flag,” Enjolras said, and went to climb the barricade.

“No,” Grantaire called out, “please don’t. It’s too dangerous.”

“It’s the flag of the Republique, Grantaire,” Enjolras said, like it was obvious. “It’s our symbol for hope and freedom.”

“Let me do it, then,” Grantaire offered, knowing that Enjolras would be an all-too easy target at the top of the barricade, waving around a flag.

“I can handle it, Grantaire.”

“Can you?” Grantaire asked, “I happen to be an expert at putting up flags.”

“Sure,” Enjolras said, climbing the barricade. “Just like I’m an expert at hiking.”

“Exactly like that,” Grantaire said, and he proceeded to climb alongside Enjolras. “We’ll do it together, then.”

Enjolras stared blankly at him.

“Okay,” he responded, after a pause, and he looked grateful.

Grantaire wanted to do so much more – hold him close, tell him how special he was, how he gave Grantaire hope when hoping was the one thing he’d been most afraid to do. But there was no time for that, and Enjolras didn’t need to hear it right now anyway. Instead he asked,

“So why’d you lie about being an experienced hiker?”

Enjolras blushed furiously. They were almost near the top, and the voices of the National Guard were so loud that Grantaire could barely hear when Enjolras said,

“An excuse to be alone with you.”

They reached the top, and Enjolras stuck the flag into the barricade.

“Grantaire!” it was the roar of Dis Bear, and he was running towards the barricade. The National Guard heard the roar as well and turned, seeing the bear charging towards them at full speed. Behind Dis Bear, much to Enjolras and Grantaire’s surprise, and the terror of the National Guard, was a whole gathering of bears, all looking incredibly bloodthirsty.

The National Guard frantically attempted to shoot off their weapons, but they were no match for the bears, who gathered around the army and roared menacingly.

“Retreat!” the captain yelled, and the rest of the guard was all too willing to comply.

“Vive le France!” Enjolras yelled over the roaring of the bears, and the citizens began to chant along with him.

Enjolras grabbed Grantaire’s hand and smiled at him, and he too was soon shouting, “Vive le France!”


	5. Chapter 5

After the National Guard had retreated entirely, Enjolras and Grantaire climbed down from the barricade to meet up with the rest of the amis, who were waiting outside the Café Musain.

Dis Bear and his sleuth were lingering a few feet away, looking friendlier than they had towards the National Guard. Still, it was obvious that the amis were nervous. Joly, in particular, looked about ready to build his own personal barricade against the bears.

“Friends!” Enjolras greeted, approaching them. “We have won a small victory. But the National Guard will be back, and we must be prepared to fight them.”

“Let’s just enjoy our victory for now,” Grantaire mumbled, sneezing dramatically. He had stashed Enjolras’s handkerchief in his pocket during his ascent up the barricade, and pulled it out again. Enjolras looked worriedly at him, like he was about to drop dead.

Dis Bear walked over to Grantaire, Enjolras, and the rest of the amis. Enjolras, who hadn’t noticed him approach, let out a small scream and hid slightly behind Grantaire.

“Thank you, Dis Bear,” Grantaire said, trying not to smile at Enjolras’s fear.

“Thank you, Grantaire,” Dis Bear said, sincerely. “And thank you, Enjolras, for letting me help with the revolution.”

“Any time, citizen,” Enjolras squeaked from behind Grantaire.

Grantaire noticed that another bear, with flowers in her fur, was looking at Dis Bear as though he was the entire world – much like the way Grantaire always looked at Enjolras.

“Looks like you’ve won over Fleur,” Grantaire commented.

“It’s true,” Dis Bear replied, his French having improved drastically, “she finally thinks I’m worth something, as does the rest of the sleuth. So I’m returning to the Pyrenees.”

“Maybe I’ll see you again sometime,” Grantaire said. Dis Bear extended his paw and they shook hands, before the sleuth departed down the streets of Paris. The citizens watching from their windows gasped in shock and awe. They decided, upon seeing the bears, that the rebellion wasn’t actually a lost cause, and that perhaps they should help out.

The amis gathered back inside the Café Musain to do a brief inventory of weapons and supplies. Grantaire was having trouble walking straight, finally experiencing the full extent of feverish delirium. He stumbled into the closest chair, earning worried glances from all of the amis.

Enjolras appeared before him, bringing a cool hand to his forehead.

“You’re burning up,” he said, in a low voice. Grantaire could barely focus his eyes. “Joly, what should we do?”

“Pneumonia is dangerous,” Joly responded, approaching Grantaire. “Boil some water and put honey in it.”

“He doesn’t have pneumonia,” Combeferre said. “It’s just a cold. Drink some ginger ale.”

“I have ginger ale back at my apartment,” Grantaire said, slurring his words together.

“Great,” Enjolras said, “then I’m taking you back. You’re too sick to be of any use to us here.”

Although his words appeared harsh, his tone was soft and worried, and Grantaire felt incredibly important under the weight of so much concern. He felt Enjolras’s arms around him, lifting him up from the chair and leading him out of the café.

Grantaire leaned into Enjolras as they walked around the barricade towards his apartment. Grantaire fumbled with the keys for a moment, even though he probably could have just pushed the battered door down, and swayed against the frame until Enjolras circled a hand around his waist and led him to the bed.

“Thank you, Enjolras,” Grantaire whispered. Enjolras just smiled and pulled the covers over Grantaire before going to the kitchenette and searching for the ginger ale.

When he returned, he held a cold glass of liquid in his hands.

“Drink this,” Enjolras said, handing it to him, “and sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

“You’re the best,” Grantaire said, delirious from fever. He was burning up, and yet couldn’t fight the chills that wracked his body. He took a small sip of the ginger ale. “Really.”

“It’s no trouble,” Enjolras said, blushing.

“I’m so in love with you,” Grantaire said, and his eyes were closing. He’d never felt so tired, or so content.

He couldn’t hear Enjolras’s response over his own coughing, but he felt Enjolras touch his face softly and say, “you’re going to be fine. Just sleep.”

Enjolras’s smile was the last thing he saw before his eyes closed, and he was lost to a feverish rest.

* * *

It wasn’t the gunshots or the shouts of the National Guard that awoke Grantaire, but rather a profound silence. He still felt feverish, and was covered in a layer of sweat, but he was well-rested and no longer lost to sneezing and coughing fits.

Looking around his small, dirty apartment, he noticed that he was alone. He contemplated briefly if Enjolras had gotten tired of looking after him and had gone home. Judging by the light in the sky, it was early in the morning, which meant he’d been sleeping all through the night.

Then he remembered the barricade. He remembered Enjolras saying that the National Guard would be back for a second attack, and this time there would be no bears to intimidate them.

He jumped out of bed, ignoring the fact that he was dressed in sleeping clothes and appeared half-dead, running out of his apartment towards the Café Musain.

It didn’t take him long to realize that a battle had gone on while he was asleep. The barricade was nearly destroyed, and the bodies of both civilians and guardsmen were littering the streets, blood flowing in rivers towards the sewers.

His heart was beating wildly and his mind was racing. Where was Enjolras? Where were the amis? He tore passed the barricade and entered the Café Musain, finding it deserted as well. In fact, it seemed as though all of Paris had emptied out, leaving only Grantaire and a couple of corpses.

Suddenly, he heard footsteps running behind him and turned to see Courfeyrac, looking incredibly lost. Catching sight of Grantaire, he smiled and approached him.

“Grantaire,” he greeted. “You’re looking better.”

“Courfeyrac,” Grantaire said, overcome with relief that at least one of his friends was alive, though he couldn’t fight the dread forming in his stomach. “Where is everyone? What happened?”

“The National Guard returned last night, and the people rose up and fought alongside us,” Courfeyrac said, beaming. “We won the revolution.”

Grantaire could tell from his expression that not everything had gone so smoothly.

“Where’s Enjolras?” he asked, unable to control himself any longer.

“At Joly’s,” Courfeyrac said, quietly. “He was injured during the fight.”

The color drained from Grantaire’s face. Enjolras was hurt. Enjolras could be dying right now, and how would they know because they were here instead of with him. Grantaire struggled to catch his breath and asked, rather harshly,

“Why aren’t you with him?”

“I was looking for Marius,” Courfeyrac explained. “He sort of disappeared during the rebellion.”

“Please,” Grantaire said, “I need to go see Enjolras.”

“Of course,” Courfeyrac said, perhaps the most knowledgeable of the amis with regards to Grantaire’s unending love for their leader. “Follow me.”

They walked together through the bloody streets of Paris until they came upon a small apartment complex. Only a few moments after ringing the doorbell, Joly appeared at the door, carrying a wet washcloth in his hands.

“How is he?” Grantaire asked, frantically. He considered briefly that he must look mad – running around feverish, covered in sweat, in his pajamas – but couldn’t concern himself with his friends’ opinions on his sanity at the moment. After all, he’d brought a bear to the meeting and won them the revolution while simultaneously sleeping through half of it – he figured they had to have some trust in him at this point.

“Sleeping,” Joly said, inviting them in. He hesitated before adding, “it’s a little worse than we thought.”

“How so?” Courfeyrac asked, unable to keep the fear from his voice.

“Infection,” Joly said. “Combeferre is with him now. We’re doing everything we can.”

Joly motioned to the bedroom where he presumably had Enjolras stashed, and Grantaire didn’t wait for an invitation before running into the room, throwing himself onto the floor beside Enjolras’s bed.

“Grantaire,” Combeferre said, surprised. He was holding a compress to Enjolras’s forehead. “You’re sick, you should be resting.”

“Like I’ll get any sleep knowing that Enjolras is dying,” Grantaire said, bitterly. He was trying to keep calm, but he felt tears form in his eyes seeing Enjolras’s motionless form on the bed. His body was covered in bruises and one of his eyes was swollen shut. He was breathing, but only slightly.

“He’s not dying,” Combeferre said, looking back to Enjolras.

“What happened?” Grantaire asked. He wanted so badly to take one of Enjolras’s hands in his own and whisper to him that everything would be okay. He didn’t know if Enjolras could hear him. He didn’t know if Enjolras would even want to.

“He was ambushed by a group of soldiers,” Combeferre explained, and Grantaire could read the guilt on his face. “They would have killed him if we hadn’t shown up.”

Grantaire felt a surge of nausea thinking about soldiers beating on a helpless Enjolras.

“I should have been there,” Grantaire said, hating himself for sleeping peacefully while Enjolras was being attacked. After Enjolras had practically carried Grantaire home and taken such good care of him. When Enjolras did wake up, he would probably despise Grantaire almost as much as Grantaire despised himself.

“Don’t blame yourself,” Combeferre said, clearly sensing Grantaire’s self-loathing. “We were all there, and we couldn’t stop this. It was a battle, and Enjolras can take care of himself.”

Combeferre paused before continuing, softly, “he’s going to be fine.”

Combeferre explained that Enjolras had received a rather deep cut to his thigh courtesy of a guard’s bayonet and that, thanks to his determination to continue fighting regardless, it was infected before any of the amis even noticed he’d been stabbed.

After about an hour, Combeferre left the room to discuss potential medicinal solutions with Joly, and Grantaire was put in charge of watching over Enjolras. He took this brief moment of privacy to grab onto Enjolras’s hand, and was surprised when he felt it twitch.

“Enjolras?” Grantaire asked, unable to keep the hope from his voice.

Enjolras’s face was red and glistening with fever, and Grantaire hurried to wipe him down with the washcloth that Combeferre had left. Enjolras opened his eyes, blinking slowly, looking around the room without recognition.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire repeated, and he couldn’t help the manic smile that appeared on his face at seeing Enjolras awake.

“Grantaire?” Enjolras asked, sounding confused. His voice was raspy and weak. “You’re sick. You should be resting.”

Grantaire removed the cloth from Enjolras’s face, smiling at his total lack of self-preservation. “You’re sick too, you know. Apparently you got into a tussle with some soldiers.”

“Did I?” Enjolras asked, almost as delirious as Grantaire had been earlier. “Did I win?”

“Yes,” Grantaire said, smiling, and pressing Enjolras’s hand. “You won the revolution. The people are singing your praises in the streets.”

Enjolras attempted a weak scoff, and turned his face towards Grantaire.

“How’re you feeling?” he asked.

“Better,” Grantaire said, rubbing circles into Enjolras’s palm, “thanks to you.”

“Really?” Enjolras asked. “You still look sick.”

“And you look amazing as usual,” Grantaire said. He was rewarded with a slight, though exasperated, smile from Enjolras.

Combeferre and Joly entered the room together, looking surprised to see Enjolras awake.

“Enjolras, thank god,” Combeferre said, walking over to the bed and flinging the covers from him to get a better look at his injury.

The wound had bled through the makeshift bandage that Joly had put together earlier. Combeferre hesitantly pulled the cloth from Enjolras’s leg, and Grantaire noticed the small intake of breath from Enjolras when it was peeled off. The cut looked painful, but there was no additional redness surrounding it.

“Looks like your remedy is helping,” Combeferre acknowledged.

“I told you,” Joly said, “I use belladonna every time I get an infection.”

Knowing Joly, he probably contracted a live-threatening infection every other week.

“Just rest for now, Enjolras,” Combeferre advised, giving Grantaire a look implying he should probably leave Enjolras alone.

When Joly and Combeferre exited the room, Grantaire stood to accompany them and was surprised when Enjolras let out a soft laugh. It sounded so innocent and effeminate that Grantaire’s legs almost gave out from under him.

“Yes, Apollo?” Grantaire asked, turning to where Enjolras was laying in bed, the covers now pulled up to his chin.

“I can’t believe we won the revolution with a talking bear,” he said, and lost himself to a rather severe case of delirious giggling. Perhaps the fever wasn’t yet entirely gone.

“I have some amazing ideas,” Grantaire said, trying his best to sound smug. “You should take more of them seriously.”

“Sorry,” Enjolras said, guiltily, looking at Grantaire with big blue eyes.

“I was just joking,” Grantaire said quickly, not wanting to stir up Enjolras when he’d only a few moments ago been on the verge of death. “Actually most of my ideas are stupid.”

“But some of them are brilliant,” Enjolras said, and paused before adding, “so are you.”

Grantaire couldn’t help the blush that colored his cheeks and neck bright red. He could never handle compliments from Enjolras with any semblance of composure. Perhaps that’s why he so often tried for his disdain instead.

“Thank you for your praises,” Grantaire said, jokingly.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras began, his voice faltering with nerves. “You know, you’re sick too, right? You should be lying down.”

“I suppose I should,” Grantaire agreed.

“Maybe you should…” Enjolras began, looking down at his hands, blushing bright pink, “maybe you should lie down with me.”

Grantaire could not have heard him correctly.

“What?” he said, stupidly.

“You know, next to me. You could sleep in this bed. With me.” Enjolras was now practically muttering under his breath and looked so entirely embarrassed that Grantaire immediately felt for him. This whole thing was too good to be true.

“You want me to sleep next to you?” Grantaire asked, just to be sure.

“Never mind,” Enjolras whispered, still unable to meet Grantaire’s eyes. “Forget it. I’m sorry.”

“Enjolras,” Grantaire said, hurriedly, passionately, “I would, of course, love to sleep beside you.”

“Really?” Enjolras looked skeptical, unsure whether or not he was being made fun of.

“Didn’t I tell you before that I was in love with you?” Grantaire asked, nervously.

“I thought that might have been the fever talking,” Enjolras responded. His voice was quiet and scared, the exact opposite of the commanding, confident tone that Grantaire had come to associate with him.

Grantaire sat on the bed beside Enjolras, and said, “move over, then.”

Enjolras scoffed, but he was smiling the most beautiful, radiant smile that Grantaire had ever seen, and Grantaire resisted the urge to lift him up from the bed and hold him in his arms and kiss him all over.

Instead, Enjolras rolled over, carrying the entire blanket with him, since he was currently wrapped up in a cocoon.

“I guess I’m on my own for blankets,” Grantaire said.

Enjolras rolled his eyes affectionately and threw half of the blanket over him, snuggling close, whispering about body heat and fevers and sickness and how they needed to do this in order to get better and change the world.

Vive le France, indeed.


End file.
